Insight: Little Bird, Red Bird
by Wrendragongirl
Summary: You don't know what it's like to be hurt, to feel lost, to be left out in the dark, to be kicked when you're down, to feel like you've been pushed around. Welcome to his life. But they all understood. And they welcomed Tim to theirs.
1. Chapter 1

**_Hey, readers! _**

**_The song used in this is 'Welcome to my Life' by Simple Plan. If you have any questions or comments or ideas, feel free to pm me/review! _**

**_-Wrendragongirl_**

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_Do you ever feel like breaking down?_

_Do you ever feel out of place,_

_Like somehow you just don't belong_

_And no one understands you?_

Tim followed his parents like a lost puppy, fake-smiling like his parents wanted him too. He hated these parties. There were no other kids he could talk to, and the adults were gossipy and stupid. He calculated an eighty-two percent chance that some simple, amateur robbers could show up and no one would think about self-defense.

_Do you ever wanna run away?_

_Do you lock yourself in your room_

_With the radio on turned up so loud_

_That no one hears you're screaming?_

He felt so useless, like a loose string, at these parties. If only he had been left at home, then he might have been able to get out and stalk batman some more. Or maybe scream into his pillow. Tim was being slowly strangled to death by this act. He pretended to be a sweet and innocent kid, all smiles and fun. But his parents were killing him a little bit at a time.

_No, you don't know what it's like_

_When nothing feels all right_

_You don't know what it's like_

_To be like me_

He was crumbling at the edges. The nine year olds ribs still hurt where his father had hit him yesterday, and the blisters on his hands burned from cleaning the house last week. Tim was less of a child and more of a slave to his parents.

_To be hurt_

_To feel lost_

_To be left out in the dark_

_To be kicked when you're down_

_To feel like you've been pushed around_

_To be on the edge of breaking down_

_And no one's there to save you_

Breaking. That was a word he could use to describe this. He was being pulled apart at the seams. But the thing was, Tim couldn't defy them. He couldn't disagree with them, because he had been taught his whole life that this is what kids do. And his intelligence told him it was wrong and he should run away, but he couldn't. He was confused.

_No, you don't know what it's like_

_Welcome to my life_

No one knew that behind that sweet, quiet exterior was a boy in so much pain and turmoil. Tim was too good of an actor.

_Do you wanna be somebody else?_

_Are you sick of feeling so left out?_

_Are you desperate to find something more_

_Before your life is over?_

He wanted to scream, to cry, to anything as long as it got him away from this stupid disguise. But he couldn't. All he could do was yawn politely.

_Are you stuck inside a world you hate?_

_Are you sick of everyone around?_

_With their big fake smiles and stupid lies_

_While deep inside you're bleeding_

His palm was still wet from two days ago when he was cut by his father. In public his parents acted like parents, and it made him sick. Maybe he would be sick.

_No, you don't know what it's like_

_When nothing feels all right_

_You don't know what it's like_

_To be like me_

'GET ME OUT OF HERE!' the child on the surface of his mind shouted.

'It's time to go' intelligence agreed. So Tim ran away from his parents.

_To be hurt_

_To feel lost_

_To be left out in the dark_

_To be kicked when you're down_

_To feel like you've been pushed around_

_To be on the edge of breaking down_

_And no one's there to save you_

Now he really was lost. The street was dark and dirty, and the clothes he wore were caked with dust and dirt. The child in him wanted to cry. The intelligence said 'So this is what its like to be an adult'. He was pretty sure the cuts up and down his arms were infected. There was no one to save him now.

_No you don't know what it's like_

_Welcome to my life_

This was Tim's life now.

_No one ever lied straight to your face_

_And no one ever stabbed you in the back_

_You might think I'm happy but I'm not gonna be okay_

He sniffled. Like a dream, the hero he idolized appeared on the rooftop. He was saying something. Batman was talking to him.

Tim mumbled something in reply, and Batman picked him up and cradled him to his chest. He was warm, and smelled comfortingly of cinnamon. Who would have thought.

_Everybody always gave you what you wanted_

_You never had to work it was always there_

_You don't know what it's like, what it's like_

That's what Jason yelled at him. Jason didn't know anything, though. Tim had to work harder than anyone.

_To be hurt_

_To feel lost_

_To be left out in the dark_

_To be kicked when you're down_

_To feel like you've been pushed around_

_To be on the edge of breaking down_

_And no one's there to save you_

_No, you don't know what it's like (What it's like)_

But they all knew. They all sympathized. If only the press would, too.

_To be hurt_

_To feel lost_

_To be left out in the dark_

_To be kicked when you're down_

_To feel like you've been pushed around_

_To be on the edge of breaking down_

_And no one's there to save you_

But now Tim had someone to save him. When his parents tried to take him back, Bruce saved him.

_No, you don't know what it's like_

_Welcome to my life_

_Welcome to my life_

_Welcome to my life_

But they did understand. And they welcomed Tim to theirs.


	2. Chapter 2

He knew he should sleep. He should put down the stupid laptop and sleep. But it wasn't that simple. It never was.

He had photos of her smiling, laughing, being happy. And now she was in critical care and he didn't know if she'd live. So he dealt with the pain in the only way he knew he could; he worked on cold cases and evidence. But he hadn't slept for a week. He really should sleep.

But he couldn't. And every time he tried, he thought of her some more. Stephanie.

Tim couldn't take it any longer. He threw the laptop across the room, listening to the satisfying thump as it hit the wall and the screen shattered.

He wanted to let go, just this once. He wanted to not be the perfect child his parents expected. To scream, to shout, to break down. To anything.

"Timmy?" Tim should have realized the noise the laptop would make. He shouldn't have broken it.

"Go away," Tim replied despondently, staring at the wall. He would have said it was Dick, or Alfred. But the footsteps weren't even, like the butler, or soft and gentle on the carpet like the former acrobat's steps. They left their own mark on the world, silent and deadly. A hand, large and calloused, reached out to his shoulder.

And suddenly, Tim was crying into Bruce's shirt. It smelled of cinnamon, just like on that night.

And Tim remembered that it was this that he loved, it was this that caused him to meet Steph, and it was this that she was dying from. And he hated it and loved it, the addiction of adrenaline and the ability to make a difference.

Of all the 'ifs', this was the biggest.

And suddenly, when he realized _Bruce_ might be crying too, he decided, maybe, this was the one thing he would never take back.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Hey guys, sorry I haven't updated in a while. My life has been very busy, what with school and stuff. _**

**_This chapter is being posted in Tim's and Damian's insight, if you read both of them. Just saying. _**

**_Thank you reviewers, followers, and favouriters! your support means a lot to me._**

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"Drake, I demand you entertain me!"

Tim internally groaned at the shout that echoed through the halls. With school out for the summer and everyone else busy with their own private projects, Damian had no one else to bother. Even Alfred, who was usually quite tolerant of the Demon's behavior, had banned him from the kitchen.

"I'm working. Go bother your animals."

Damian's cat, Alfred, had followed his namesake's lead and made himself scarce, with Titus in pursuit. Which meant Tim had to deal with this on his own.

"Drake, I'm bored!" Tim took even, deep breaths as Damian appeared in the door.

"And?"

"Entertain me." He thought for a moment, remembering Grayson's warning about not being polite. "…Please?"

"…Fine. Here." Tim tossed a book at Damian, who barely caught it. The kid looked at it with unconcealed disdain.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He sniffed.

"It's a photo album. If Bruce hasn't shown you these, he has utterly failed as a mentor." Tim went back to typing at his computer.

Damian 'tsked' before walking away, album in hand. Tim smirked. Dick would not be happy.

Ten minutes later, Damian was photocopying the images of Dick in the original Robin uniform, with the scaly underoos and bright, flashy colors that Bruce had discouraged but never managed to get rid of.

He had not expected Grayson to be so... unsensible? Without style? Damian didn't even know how to describe it, but he was rather glad. This was solid blackmail.

Drake had some use after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey, peoples! How's life?**_

_**To clear up any confusion, this chapter is about when Jack Drake finds out his son is Robin and bans it. There are mentions of Jason's and KF's death from young justice, as well as mild language. **_

_**Enjoy the angst. **_

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Tim remembered the words very clearly. Strong and stern, angry and surprised, they rang through his head like some bell being bonged over and over and over and over until he wanted to hit his head on a wall and drown out the wailing with ringing.

_ "__Young man, you will not go out again. You're grounded for life."  
_ Fresh tears sprang to his eyes again. Why did Bruce have to force him to make up with his father? Why did his father have to search through his room like that? Even after all the yelling about respecting boundaries, too.

A piece of yellow and black fabric was scrunched between his hands. This was all he had left. This was all of his life he cared about. This was what he had to give up, for the safety of all the others.

Was it selfish, to want to go out one more time and say goodbye? Was it selfish to feel the urge to wake up at night and find a spare grappling hook, just for the memories? Was it wrong to go onto the rooftop and wave every time the telltale shadows spoke of Batman or Nightwing's arrival on patrol? And most of all, was it worth it to disobey this one time?

This is the last time, Tim vowed. The last time to fly. His grapnel weighed heavy in his hand as he aimed it, and in one fluid motion, was soaring across the streets again. For an instant, it was there.

Then he landed, and the instant shattered, leaving nothing but a fading dream in its place.

The grapnel recoiled and Tim swung back across the street to the roof, where he stood and waited awhile. He knew he wouldn't see anyone. Dick and Barbara and Bruce always specifically avoided his street so that his father wouldn't have any reason to blow the whistle on them.

The fabric, still held tight, was still silky smooth. He folded his grapnel into it before turning to go back inside, but out of the corner of his eye, something fluttered. Immediately he took up a fighting stance.

"I thought you promised you wouldn't go out." A reproachful voice. Dana. Crap.

"I thought you promised you wouldn't pry." He snapped.

She walked over to the edge of the roof and stared across all the others. Two blocks away, just over the edge, a woman was being mugged. Tim clenched his fists.

"Relax, kiddo, I just wanna talk." The woman who was now his mother just watched as the man took out a gun and shot his victim in the arm. She would bleed out, soon. Dana and he both knew that he could save her. But he couldn't. For the sakes of everyone, he had to let her die.

"Did it hurt?"

"What?"

"Did it hurt. Seeing those that you could have saved and didn't, getting hurt yourself?" Tim tore his gaze away from the woman dying when he realized he was leaning over the railing.

"It still does. Every time I see someone hurt, or dying, or lost or confused I feel with them. Because if I'm not allowed to help, then at least I can understand."

Dana nodded, tilting her head slightly. Tim took this as a sign of encouragement to rant.

"You see that woman right there? About a year ago I saved another woman just like her from death. That man walking down the street? He used to be one of Riddlers' hostages. The pregnant girl? She was being raped and was about to get killed." He pointed at every person, knowing them by sight.

"The boy who lives one floor below us? I saved him, once, from Joker. Had to take the bullet for him. His father is abusive, and the other day a bully punched him. Gave him a black eye. Now no one can prosecute because all the marks and bruises and cuts can be put down to bullying. I was on that case before…Dad discovered I'm...was Robin. We were about to save the kid from misery for the rest of his life, but Batman deals with the bigger villans, Batgirl is busy with family issues, and Nightwing is in Bludhaven. All these people? They relied on me. They counted on me to be doing my patrol at the same time each night. Now that I'm gone, this neiborhood is going to rot from the inside out."

The cool breeze ruffled his hair affectionately, but now he wasn't Robin so it wasn't the same.

"That's…" Dana tried to butt in.

"It's horrible. Most of these people spotted me and waved. I would wave back. They knew I was there and they could count on me to always be there, on that corner of that street at twelve each night. And now that I'm not there, they won't be hopeful. That's the biggest thing I did for them; bring hope. But I'm gone so hope's gone and right now that woman is dead because I can't help. Hell, I can't even talk to my older brother. He still cries every night because he can't talk to both of his younger siblings now. One's dead and I'm as good as."

Suddenly the metal wall had a big dent in it. He wasn't sure when it happened or why or how but now all he wanted was ninjas to ambush them so he could knock them out cold and feel the power and the strength and might to act rush through him. The adrenaline was gone and now what would he do?

"And maybe I started this unselfishly but now I want it back for me. Maybe I need to make a difference. Maybe I've got hero's complex or maybe I'm just compulsive, but I see a robber breaking in across the street and the assassination two doors down, and all these people are suffering, and I can't do a goddamn thing to help!"

Tim took a deep breath to keep his voice from trembling. It didn't help.

"And gosh, I shouldn't rant like this but all this happens and I'm the only one noticing everything, and Two-face is about to start killing and Black Mask is dealing drugs and Batman is going to stop him later. Then Joker will escape from Arkham and then he'll need backup, but Nightwing isn't here right now and Batgirl's out of town and Batwoman doesn't have the experience and then I'll wish that I could be out there and there goes my promise to dad and…and…and!"

Tim gasped for air, tears streaking as he tried not to hyperventilate. Deep breaths. Just like Bruce had taught him. The thought that the only thing keeping him from having a panic attack was his former mentor's training that his dad had banned him from using was surreal, and Tim had to keep from laughing hysterically.

"And you know Kid flash and Superboy and Speedy and Beast Boy and Blue beetle and all the other 'junior heroes'? They were my friends and all of them looked up to me. I was the example, the one to crack sarcastic comments as we pranked Green Arrow and Green lantern, and the one who took charge when Nightwing couldn't, and the strategist who took over when everyone else was off planet and we had to save the world. I was the one who supported, who acted behind the scenes. The one to keep everyone on track when… some one quit… or or or… Kf… and now I'm not there and the point is they were my friends, even if I only saw them once a month."

Breath. In, out. In, out. Think beautiful thoughts….

"But the point is, there were so many people who relied on me and so many who helped me and need to be helped, but I can't anymore. Imagine you were the one aching from missing your best friends and the work that made your life meaningfull. I mean, I might as well commit suicide. No one will miss me now."

And Dana just nodded. The sad think was she didn't know that he was serious about the suicide thing. Or maybe he'd just find a way to keep himself asleep in a way that only Nightwing would know how to disable, so he'd be able to talk to his brother when he woke up.

The cloth around the grapnel was released and Tim held it to his face. It still smelled like Alfred's detergent and Bruce's cologne and Barbara's shampoo and Dick's warm hugs. If he reached back farther, there was the tang of fresh blood and maybe just a dry, kryptonian smell, as well as heady bow wax and Impulse's cheese wizzies and Blue Beetle's metallic amulet; maybe a hint of brackish water and Cassie's jasmine perfume and Beast Boy's tofu. It was comforting.

It was the scent of home, where he should be right now. He bet Kaldur would have a mission for them and Nightwing might be laughing at them all while Kon pouted in the corner at M'gann and Garth.

So he didn't notice the ghost of a warm hand on his shoulder from _that night_ or that his father had been staring at the door while he ranted about the mess that was his life. He didn't wonder about the door creaking open or the sounds of footsteps in the apartment below theirs or the little boy opening his window to the sounds of sobbing. He didn't realize how loud he had shouted at the end, or that no one except Dana, the boy, and the man that he couldn't call his father anymore.

Most of all, he couldn't see Batman in the shadows behind him, wishing to hold his son close while he cried but being unable to do so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey readers, sorry about the update delay. My computer charger won't work and I'm having trouble finding a new one, so most future chapters are going to be written and posted from my Ipod. Please excuse spelling mistakes.**

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This wasn't happening. It couldn't. Not like Jason, please don't be like Jason...

Not Damian. Please not Damian. He was the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul. He couldn't die. He always gave off that undefeatable vibe, the stuck-up nine-year-old who acted older than he was. He couldn't be dead.

Not his little brother. Not his little murderous ninja/assassin extremely cuddly (ok, so maybe that was over-exaggerating) animal loving brother. Please no.

Sure he had tried to kill him, but Damian had tried to kill them all at one point. That was just...his very strange way of showing affection.

oh god please don't be dead Damian.

It was to Tim's great relief that the boy survived arrows piercing his outer layer of armour and being run-through with a sword. They weren't quite sure how he did, but no one complained. Bruce did double check his DNA, fingerprints, and (the most important test of all) wether his cats and dogs recognized him.

That in of itself earned a "You doubted me? You should be ashamed of yourself. No one but me can achieve this level of greatness."

Their dear eldest brother promptly started to strangle them all.

"Watch the ribs, Grayson!"


	6. Chapter 6

**DONE**

Tim is _done._

He's tired of playing, of

UNDERSTANDING

There's a _mask_ now and it's

CLEAR

(like crystal)

That they don't NEED him

Don't _want_ him

(he knows when to leave)

SO_ WHAT_ IF

He acts crazy

(Bruce isn't dead)

SO **_WHAT_** IF

Nightwing is stressed

(so's everyone else)

**SO. ****_WHAT._**** IF.**

Their world is crumbling

**HE'S. DONE. PLAYING.**

(soon they'll know he was right)

[SOON they'll understand.]


End file.
